


The Shining

by KoreArabin



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Beating, Bondage, Ghosts, Hallucinations, M/M, Object Insertion, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: “I rather consider, Jedediah, that what I am now going to do to you is going to be all too real for you, but if it ain’t quite hitting the spot for you, you only have to let me know and I shall do my best to remedy it.”





	The Shining

**Author's Note:**

> Jedediah is *such* a wonderful, complex character. Unfortunately, the latest series of RS really doesn't treat him well. 
> 
> Perhaps he doesn't deserve better, in the context of the TV series. But he most bloody well does deserve better on A03.

“Shine, how is it that you did not know what your failure might be met with? For you have failed, have you not, Inspector? And such failure is never without its consequences.”

Shine would argue the deuce, if he were inclined to do so. If he were *able*. But he is laid out flat upon the cold stone floor of one of cells in the bowels of the station-house, a heavy leather boot pressing hard down on his neck. 

One of his oldest and greatest adversaries stands over him, his attire spruced up and neat as you like, compared to the torn remnants of Shine’s clothing.

He gasps for air as the weight upon his throat eases slightly.

“Do your worst. I care not.”

“Oh, Jedediah. _Jedediah_. You do not want to feel my worst.”

Shine squints painfully up at him, his eyes swelling purple from the beating he’s already taken.

He cannot remember how he got here, and he cannot remember the fight he must have had to leave him in such a condition. And he certainly cannot comprehend how he can come to be looking up into the face of the late Bennet Drake. 

“You ain’t real, Drake. You’re dead. You’re six feet under in Bow Cemetery. You’re pushing up the daisies, my old son. I seen your closed coffin with my own eyes. You ain’t real.”

Drake leans down and grasps a handful of Shine’s hair, pulling him up from the cell floor, as Shine grunts in pain.

“How’s that, Shine? Real enough for you?”

“So what you going to do, eh? You ain’t got it no more, Drake. You could’ve done for me back at the fight, but you bottled it. You ain’t got the stomach for it no more, not with your satin neckties, and your fancy Inspector Reids, and your butter-wouldn’t-melt-in her-fucking-mouth wife.” 

“Pity for you though it is that she ain’t still nothing but a two-bit whore dolled up in fine ladies’ clothing, with a mouth what’s taken a lot more than a stick of butter or two, if my recollection serves me right.”

The left hook to his face leaves Shine spraying blood across the cell floor. The following backhand has him sprawled once again on the hard stone, curling in on himself as Drake kicks him savagely, his booted feet connecting heavily with Shine’s stomach, his flanks, his kidneys and, last and most ferociously, his balls.

Retching, and grasping the throbbing flesh between his legs protectively, Shine can’t help himself.

“There ain’t nothing you can do to me, Drake, nothing what’ll break me. You can beat the fucking shit out of me, hit me ‘til I’m black and blue and bleeding out, but you won’t make me stoop. Nothing.”

“Is that so, Jedediah?”

Drake looks down at him; nods as he purses his lips.

“We’ll see.”

Shine struggles to pull himself up into a sitting position as Drake leaves him alone and begins rummaging in the cell next door. Despite his fine words, Shine is in a lot of pain, and fears more pain, and fears death, as all mortal men must do. He cannot stand, but he can pull himself along the floor, ever nearer to the cell door and to escape from the hands of Bennet Drake.

“Do you mean to make off and away already, Inspector Shine? Your brave words to me just now gave me to understand that you were not yet ready to concede this little matter of ours here?”

“Fuck off, ghost. You ain’t here. You ain’t real.”

Drake huffs in amusement.

“I rather consider, Jedediah, that what I am now going to do to you is going to be all too real for you, but if it ain’t quite hitting the spot for you, you only have to let me know and I shall do my best to remedy it.”

Drake forces him back down to the floor, settling himself across Shine’s waist and hips, and yanks his arms up forcefully behind him. Shine grunts as the heavy iron manacles lock closed around his wrists, keeping them twisted painfully against his back. He begins to struggle in panic as Drake then begins to drag the thick fabric of his tartan tweed trousers down, his small-clothes following in their inevitable descent over his hips and down his legs, until Drake at last wrestles him out of them and casts them aside.

“I ain’t going to beat you no more, Jedediah. What I am going to do is what all of us here what’s served under Edmund Reid has wanted to do to you since you first stepped foot in this station-house.”

“We’re going to fuck you.”


End file.
